


Gacela of the stolen sun

by losselen (zambla)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 06:36:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1335667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zambla/pseuds/losselen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faramir for his lady. Poem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gacela of the stolen sun

Green, lady, the green of your hands  
winding in the branches on the  
blind, separate dark.

Green, lady, the green in your hair,  
like pennants in the stone city,  
hides its colour in  
the liquid Moon.

My lady, remember when we  
rode in the woods  
and tall were the _lebethron_  
spreading their late crowns,  
their branches barely touching,  
like young lovers.

And when we rode  
from the hilly vales I said:  
Lo! my love, here is the River.  
In Ithilien the River  
is cold and wide.

In Ithilien the River  
is the lover  
who will not stay. On its white breast  
the years are flowing by.

My lady, you are in loveliness to me as the  
broad-leaved woods to the deer,  
or the pebbled banks of Anduin to the leaping trout,  
summer after summer.

Yet I love you better  
than I love all this land.

In the days of Shadow  
under the trembling sky  
all you asked of me were words.  
I say this now.

Before the Dread Beast you unfurled  
your hair, cold and bright,  
glittering when the Sun had gone out.  
Fair and fell you were, and savage was  
your heart among the rising smoke,  
But no words of praise are these,  
for I saw you not that day.

In the fields of Edoras where the Sun  
beats down on the bending grass,  
where the unlettered plowmen sing from their  
long memories,  
your glory is everlasting.

But each morning you smile beneath the  
eaves of my house, and the  
River is seized, and leaves halted in their falling,  
and the Sun  
is plucked from the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Gacela - gazelle, a poetic series by Lorca. "Unlettered plowmen...long memories" is from Waugh's Brideshead Revisited.


End file.
